


My Love, Please Close Your Eyes

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Ending, M/M, Mind Control, Please Practice Fire Safety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning, Altair had been in on Al Mualim's plans. The revelation almost hurt more than Malik could stand. But he thought, if only he could make him see the errors of his ways--</p><p>But Altair was thinking the exact same thing. All the way down to the thought that, if the other could not be convinced to walk the path towards the light then there was only one way things could end</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love, Please Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round one of mine and [Cards_Slash's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash) evil contest (Please Practise Fire Safety). The prompt she gave me was:
> 
> Altmal BUT Altair is in on Al Mualim's plan from the start. (The whole plan, even the part where Kadar dies.) Malik finds out and though betrayed tries to reason with him. Altair doesn't want to kill Malik but if he cannot be swayed to the right side... (True love does not prevail.)

Altair had once kissed him like Malik were the sun, the moon and the stars. He had touched him like it was a matter of _worship_ and Malik had grabbed back at him, desperate to hold him down, to keep him close.

He had once held him, like there was nothing beyond the bed they lay on and whispered _I love you_ to Malik like it was the single most important truth in the world.

That had all been long before Solomon's Temple, but right before Altair had left for Arsuf, he'd pulled Malik in roughly, kissed him for the first time in months like he was desperate to convey _something_ and then he had said, "do what is right, Malik." like he was begging him.

Though what it was he wanted, Malik wasn't sure.

Even now as he passed through the gates of Masyaf with his men following behind him, he wasn't sure.

The men in Masyaf did not seem to be in their right mind and Malik regretted each one they had to take down, but in his head he was still preoccupied with what Altair had said.

_Do what is right, Malik._

Those words haunted him, along with the ones he'd found in Robert De Sable's journal, like the question that had followed him out of Jerusalem all the way here.

_Why? Why did it have to be you?_

They found Altair surrounded by a corpses. One assumed they belonged to those whose minds Al Mualim had taken control of.

Malik ordered his men to stay back, to make sure no one else came near. He left them at the fringe and stepped forward.

"Altair!" His voice did not shake when he said his name (that surprised even him). A part of him still thought, maybe (just maybe), he had been mistaken. Altair who had once held him as a lover, who had held him not even ten days ago and told him to do the right thing (what was that? He wasn't even sure anymore) like he was afraid of losing him...surely he couldn't have--

\--but there was something _sad_ in Altair's expression when he turned around and he wanted to turn and _run_.

"Malik," Altair said and any expression that was on his face was gone now as he stepped towards Malik, "why are you here?"

Malik should draw his sword (he could not do it). He said, "you know why I'm here."

Altair nodded and there was again that flash of regret, "I had hoped I was wrong."

"You are wrong." Malik said and Altair always used to laugh at his barbed words. He did not even smile this time. "But not about this. You told me to find the truth."

"It was a test."

"I suppose I failed then." Malik closed his eyes briefly (even a second could mean life or death but Malik needed a moment to reorient himself as his entire world seemed to turn on its head). When he opened them again, Altair was only a few feet away, his sword still stained with blood (not likely of the thralls but those who had not fallen into line). "He was my brother." He said instead of, _I loved you_ because it was, at least a little less egocentric.

Altair nodded, accepting the accusation. "There will always be sacrifices. You cannot build a new world without any blood spilt." It did not sound like an excuse and that was the worst part of all. It sounded so _cold_ so logical and Malik wanted to throw something at him (maybe a rock, maybe a knife).

His men were looking at them, too far away to hear their quiet conversation and Malik was grateful.

"This is the world you wish to create?" Malik swept and arm out, towards the deserted streets, to the bodies strewn around them. "This is madness, Altair! This is not our way! The Creed--"

"This _is_ the Creed." Altair took the last few steps towards him, "nothing is true and everything is permitted, Malik. We are creating a better world. One without war, without suffering--"

"A world without freedom isn't a better world. You are building a cage!" Malik should put distance between them, but he found himself rooted in place until Altair was close enough to reach out and cradle his jaw in his hand.

"Malik," He said and he sounded as desperate as he did in Jerusalem. _Do what is right_. At one point, Malik thought maybe he meant for Malik to come stop him. (But that was never it, was it?). He stroked Malik's jaw with his thumb, "do not do this."

The worst part, was seeing Altair's conviction, knowing that he couldn't be convinced. (It was seeing the pain in his eyes, knowing that whatever other lies he had told the declarations of love, the soft touches were _sincere_.)

He closed his eyes again, promised himself it would be the last time before he pushed Altair's hand away and stepped back. The sound of him drawing his own sword seemed to drag on forever even though it lasted no more than a moment. Altair's hand dropped and he was expressionless again as he set his own stance even before Malik said, "I am an assassin."

It was a refusal, not an apology and they both knew it. (There was nothing left to apologize for. These were the choices they'd made and there was no turning back.)

"So be it."

Malik brought his sword up to block seconds before he ordered his men to _run_.

~ + ~

"Would you have killed me?"

Malik looked up irritably from his work. Altair was waiting in the bureau for the right time to assassinate his target.

"What part of 'be silent' do you not understand?" Malik turned back to the map he was drawing, "unlike you I have work."

Instead of listening, Altair had stood up from the cushions he was laying on to stand in front of the counter. "If someone had put a sword in your hand when you returned from Solomon's Temple," He asked again, reaching out to still Malik's hand, "would you have killed me?"

Malik pulled his hand back to avoid having ink fall onto the parchment and ruin his work, "you are a pest." Then, realizing that Altair would not stop until he had an answer, set his quill down. "No," He said finally, "it would have been tempting, but whatever you had done you are still a brother. Killing you would be against our Creed."

"But what if I were a traitor? Would you kill me then?" Altair's expression was unreadable, so Malik hadn't understood (at the time) where the question had come from.

"What is with these morbid questions? Do you want me to kill you?" He was being more sarcastic than serious. Altair did not seem to the sort to seek death. He picked up his quill once again with a snort. "You are an arrogant fool and you leave disaster in your wake every time because you refuse to think. You have broken every tenet of our Creed and have been justly punished, but I cannot imagine you being a traitor." He dipped the quill in the ink and went back to work, "now let me get back to work before I tie you up and gag you."

~ + ~

Malik and Altair were always well matched in the sparring ring. Their fighting styles were different enough that it was hard to say who had the edge. Malik might have been exhausted from riding from Jerusalem to Masyaf (and heartsick with the knowledge that Altair was a traitor and had knowingly led him and Kadar to their deaths), but Altair had just fought an army and Robert De Sable in Arsuf. More than that, they were both determined to win while trying not think about what the cost of victory would be.

In the end, like all their fights, it was decided over a mistake, in this case--a misstep, a stone that Malik hadn't seen that made him stumble. The opening lasted no longer than a second but they were both trained to take advantage of things like that. Altair disarmed him and Malik was forced to let go of his sword with a hiss. He reached for the throwing knives he kept, but Altair grabbed his hand and bodily tackled him to the ground. Malik snarled as Altair sat high on his chest so Malik couldn't buck him off. He expected Altair to finish him off with the hidden blade, but instead his hands closed around Malik's throat (and what sort of death was that, for an assassin even one no longer on active duty?). Malik still bucked and pushed his hand against Altair (and if he had worn a hidden blade he would have stabbed Altair through the throat) even as the edge of his vision turned dark.

Altair did not let go until Malik went limp and his arm fell to the ground (even then he held on a second more, just to be sure). He sat there for a moment before he reached out to stroke over Malik's face, the tender gesture in contrast to everything else that had happened. Then he leaned down to press a kiss to Malik's forehead.

"Forgive me for this, Malik." He whispered against his temple before he stood up.

~ + ~

Masyaf fell to them in a day.

The bureaus took a few weeks more, but by the time two months had passed, the entirety of the Order fell to their control. (Out of respect for Malik, Altair had hunted down his men, the ones who had come with him from Jerusalem, personally).

They took the Templars next. With their leader gone they had no direction and they had fallen even easier.

"The Holy Land is now safe from this senseless feud between Templars and Assassins. Now we must rid it of the war between the Saracens and the Christians. Then the world will be saved." Al Mualim had nodded, the Apple of Eden tucked safely in a pouch he wore on his belt, "You have done well, Altair."

"Thank you, Master."

"I will call on you when the next phase of our plan is ready. You are dismissed." It could have been a mission report like any other, except now, instead of safety and peace, He said, "we walk the path towards the light."

"We walk the path towards the light." Then Altair ducked his head and left.

~ + ~

After leaving the Mentor's study, he climbed the stairs to his personal chambers. No one stopped to look at him, and instead were focused on what they were doing. There wasn't a guard at his door (there was no need). When he pushed open the door, there was already someone inside.

The sound of the door opening and shutting had not roused Malik from bed (it was Altair's very presence in the room that commanded his entire attention). He sat up, the blanket slipping down his body to pool at his waist.

"Altair." He said as Altair sat down on the bed. There were still finger shaped bruises on his neck, but Malik touched him at the crook of his elbow with a smile on his face that Altair couldn't stand to look at. Instead, he ducked in to kiss him, silencing whatever words Malik had meant to say.

Altair's eyes were shut as he kissed him deeply, pushing his tongue past Malik's parted lips. He focused on the way Malik tasted, the feel of his skin under his fingers, all of them familiar things that Altair had never taken for granted. Malik moaned shamelessly against him, his own hand coming to rest across Altair's shoulders as Altair pushed him down on the bed.

Altair was always gentle with him, each touch and kiss a supplication for that which he knew he did not deserve. He would whisper apologies into Malik's sweat damp skin even as he reached up, smoothing a hand over his eyelids to close them so he did not need to see the golden light of the Apple reflected in them.


End file.
